Hoy! Eh, sorry, bad Wind Waker reference.
My excuse for not having written a new HP story is that my Gamecube has brainwashed me. Zelda = My God.
YES! CHRISTYMAS STORY! Angsty. Did you know that was German? I didn't. I started this in October, but it's my present to everyone at FF.net, whether they like it or not, so I had to make it all pretty and then post it. You can return it later, when I'm done. Reviews will be wrapped and put under the tree, but flames will be put in bad children's stockings. :)
Here's the deal, people: this story's going to have two endings. One's going to be (everyone's favorite) angst, while one would be a 'happy ending'. You can read one, the other, or both. I just can't decide which one I like better. ;-; Have pity.
I find the most underused character in fanfiction has to be Hagrid. Poor Hagrid. So, he's going to have quite a nice part in this.
Warnings and Notes: Draco Malfoy-centric. It just turned out that way. The magic used in this is done without wands. I don't know why…
Rated PG-13 for swearing, bits of blood fun, and other stuff, but mostly because the angst-like ending will most likely be a definite PG-13. Rants on how I think the Malfoy family works. No immediate slash is foreseeable, but if you want it to be, please say so. ;-*
That was my desperate attempt to get you to review. Pwease? It would make my inner rabid fangirl very happy.
If you do, also say which ending you'd like up first - the angsty one or the nicer one? I'd try to get them up at the same time, but just in case.
You might notice that Draco is referred to as either Malfoy or Draco. What he calls is determined by how the character featured (or just the mood I'm going for) feels about him. For example, if the scene contains Hermione and Ron, unless they're both on good terms with him, he's going to be called Malfoy. If it's with Lucius and Narcissa, or if he's referring to himself, it's going to be Draco. Just a bit of flavor for you. So watch out for that, it might give you a better idea of the mood of certain parts.
The song featured is by Amy Grant, namely Breath of Heaven. Said song belongs to her, and the Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling, and all of those other happy companies. I want book six. Or the third movie. Now, you fools.
Happy Holidays (it's a bit early, but whatever)…God bless us, everyone! *Cheesy smile*
[Peccata Mundi] – Scripture One : Penance
That final battle that they all had waited for started and ended on the same day.
--
Harry laughed, his voice cracking after so much yelling and screaming. The Dark Lord before him looking around shiftily, trying to find a loophole, but only to escape his death.
Harry didn't notice, but Voldemort's hands began to move in a rhythmic pattern, a silent incantation. The blood red and dulled green were always locked, as Harry Potter raised his hands, the wind taking away his voice, but his lips still formed the words that led to the emerald glow that shot down his arms, and rested at his hands, throbbing at the aspect of potential death, to suck the life from a body.
When Harry shot the dull, pulsing green light from his hands, the Dark Lord finished summoning a powerful protection spell that absorbed almost all of the green lightning. One lone bolt pierced the barrier, and pierced Voldemort through the throat. He choked on his own victorious laughter, and fell to his knees.
Harry quickly conjured his own magic absorbing spell, making a quick cross with his right hand in front of his face. This action seemed to solidify into a golden mark, which burst and spread around Harry.
"Harry! God, no!" Hermione screamed, as she watched him fall. Ron turned in alarm at the shriek, and was punched across the jaw. Ron went straight for the Death Eater, and he muttered a few words, and sliced his finger across the man's chest. The magic spurted from his hand, and a large gash quickly appeared. Wiping the blood off of his hands, Ron dashed for Harry, who was lying on the ground.
While the mark had absorbed the deadly rebound of his own curse, the gold magic had been taken in by his body again. Harry froze, his eyes clouded by amber sparks. He started to fall, only seeing a fiery phoenix flying towards him. He reached out to catch it, but missed, and started to drop, his stomach doing somersaults. The light of the phoenix died away, until he was left alone. He tried to cry out, but he couldn't hear anything – not even his own voice.
---
Hermione choked back tears, as Ron turned Harry over, a few cuts and gashes tainting his pale face. He put his two forefingers to his neck, and sighed when he the blood beating through the vein.
"He's still got a pulse, My. It's going to be okay." He whispered, as he picked up Harry. Hermione nodded, short sobs still shaking her shoulders. She looked over the 'battle field', a field somewhere in the southwest of England. Whatever life had been there before was now destroyed, and at least a hundred Death Eaters were strewn across the ground, and a hundred more good Wizards and Witches.
Hermione wrapped her arms around one of Ron's and another sob shook her body.
They both ignored the corpse of the Dark Lord.
The two of them closed their eyes, and both chanted different words that somehow complemented each other, like they were singing a duet. A ring of magic marks appeared around the three of them, and then five rings surrounded them, until they felt a pull at their navel, like a Portkey.
--
"Oh, Gods, I was afraid of this." Dumbledore sighed, and rubbed his temples. Harry was lying on the table in Infirmary at Hogwarts. All of his cuts and bruises had been healed, there was only one problem – Harry was in a coma. "We can't do any more for him here. Comas, even in the Wizarding World, aren't curable just like that." He snapped his fingers. Ron nodded, and looked out of the window.
"We'll taking him back to his house in Surrey. Try and get some Magidoctors to see him. We've still got some money when we won that Lottery ages ago. Come on, My. Let's take Harry home."
Harry, ironically, had a medium sized, one-floor house in Surrey, not too far from where the Dursleys still lived.
--
"I haven't been to this place in ages. It's exactly like it used to be. He's even left clothes around the kitchen." Hermione clucked, though her voice was softer than usual. She walked around the kitchen, grabbing articles of clothing Harry had abandoned.
Ron had Harry in his arms, and he took him upstairs, to his bed. He laid him down, and closed his eyelids. They snapped open, and Ron grimaced.
"Freaky."
Harry's once alert emerald eyes had turned a dull hazel, as he stared at nothing, his lips slightly parted, as if he was about to say something. The color was almost totally drained from his skin, and his hands were in fists that grasped at nothing.
"Ron, I'll call a few doctors, see if I can get any of them to come here." Hermione called from the kitchen.
"Yeah, sure," Ron yelled back. "Bloody hell, mate, you're not supposed to be the one who gets hurt." He muttered as his ran a hand through his hair. He shook his head, and walked back to the kitchen.
---
For the next month, countless people educated in magical medicine came to see Harry. Some for the money and the fame if they woke him up, some just for a job, and others just to give it a shot.
The only problem was, none of them could touch him. This caused a major problem – none of them could figure out what was wrong.
Whenever they reached into the two-centimetre diameter around Harry, a black shield flew up, and surrounded him. Ron and Hermione could touch him, but they rarely needed to.
---
Two months later, the doorbell rang. Hermione answered, not sure whom to expect. It could have been any of the Weasleys, Hagrid, Neville or any of the old Hogwarts students who came by once in a while.
Who she met was a pale man with a hard-set frown across his face, and most of his platinum hair gelled back. She wasn't surprised, or if she was, didn't show it.
"Oh. Malfoy. Come in." She opened the door further, and he stepped in, surveying the house around him. Hermione had the whole house cleaner than the day Harry first moved in.
"Mione, who is-" Ron appeared at the doorframe, and simply nodded at Malfoy.
"Like any tea, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, her back turned as she put the kettle on. She knew he had nodded.
"What brings you here?" Ron asked, taking a seat across from Malfoy.
Malfoy looked up, and gave him a grim smile.
"I just finished my final course in Magical Medicine. I've been tossed out of my own Estate, and-" A snicker came from Ron, and a smirk from Hermione. The House Elf Rebellion (the first and only, it was predicted, the social order in the Wizarding World was too dependant on other species for these kind of things to happen often) had left the Malfoy estate without any of its core workers, and the elves had thrown out Malfoy and any and all non-elf servants. Lucius and Narcissa were either missing or dead, but that fact never seemed to haunt him. Malfoy scowled, before continuing.
"Ahem. I've got nowhere to go, and I heard about Potter through the grapevine. I know this is sudden and all, but could I stay here, at least until I get my affairs in order?" Malfoy's eyes widened considerably, and his scowl had dissolved.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, before shrugging at the same time.
"I suppose, Malfoy. Harry's…well, he doesn't sleep, but he's in his room, Hermione and I are in the spare room," Ron's ears went slightly pink. "I suppose you can either sleep on the couch, or Harry's room, but he'll keep you up all night. He's unnerving, that's all."
"I'll take the couch then. Now, can I see Potter?"
Ron stood up, and moved his head in the direction of Harry's room. There Harry was, the same as always. Staring at nothing, his hands in his lap, as he sat on a rather plain chair. Nothing special for The Boy-Who-Lived.
When Malfoy moved towards Harry, the black shield shot up, but Malfoy pressed his hand against it. The dull light in Harry's eyes seemed to shift towards Malfoy, and the force field opened, but only enough for Malfoy to slip his hand through. He took his chin in his hand, and stared back at Harry, almost daring him to wake up. Malfoy nodded, and withdrew his hand. The barrier filled in the hole, and then disappeared.
Hermione had joined them, as Malfoy began to speak.
"He's not in just a coma. He's in a magical one. Surviving purely on the magic that runs through his veins. He can't eat or sleep, and he won't age physically. That barrier that comes up is a defence mechanism, and he's very conscious of the outside world, even though he's almost totally trapped in his mind. His consciousness only lets people he knows quite well past it. You might have noticed that he can't close his eyes. That's because when any magical being is asleep, their magical ability lessens quite considerably. He needs all of the magical power he can get to stay alive, not including the power needed to not age. Any questions?" Ron thought he sounded a lot like Snape for a second, like he was lecturing them.
They both shook their heads. Malfoy nodded approvingly, and then sat down on Harry's bed.
"What month is it?" He asked suddenly, totally off-topic.
"Late November. Why?" Hermione answered, looking curiously at Ron, then back to Malfoy.
"I'm going out to London. You got any Floo? I haven't got Apparition down flat just yet." Hermione and Ron exchanged suspicious looks.
"Yeah, the fireplace is in the small living room, the Floo should be on the mantle somewhere. Be back by eleven, the fireplace won't let you in after that, and it won't open up again until eight." Malfoy gave Ron a curious look. He waved his hand in front of him, in his defence. "Wasn't me, it was Harry. You can't blame him for being slightly paranoid."
Malfoy nodded, and walked out of the bedroom.
Ron put an arm around Hermione when she started to sniff again. She rubbed at her eyes, and laughed.
"I've…just got something in my eye, Ron."
This rather touching moment was interrupted by a shout downstairs.
"Diagon Alley!"
--
Three cups of never-cooling tea were left on in the kitchen, to ponder their fate.
--
Find the Leaky Cauldron, go out the back, and by tapping the right bricks, one could find the more magical part of London.
--
Draco Malfoy appeared in the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron, happy that the magical flames didn't burn him. The soot and ash, however, was killer on his hair.
"Why, Master Malfoy! I haven't seen you here in years!" Came a rather jolly but rough voice. Malfoy shook the ash out of his hair, and looked up to see a beaming Hagrid.
It seemed so many years ago that he used to make fun of the half-giant. It was like everyone had partially forgiven him, but he was still in penance for his sins.
"Hagrid. It's nice to see you again." The man was right; he hadn't been into the Leaky Cauldron since graduation.
Malfoy's usually slicked back hair had been disrupted in his attempt to fix it, and it now fell over his eyes, still in gelled strands. Hagrid placed a hand on his shoulder, and started to lead him to the bar. Malfoy tried to resist, saying he had shopping to do, which only brought more merriment to Hagrid's eyes. Insisting he had a drink (or ten), Malfoy noticed that the half-giant seemed to forgive easily. Too bad not everyone he knew was like this. He had never really judged people by himself back in his days at Hogwarts, when the preaching of his Father clouded his entire mind.
Smiling absentmindedly at the man's jokes, Draco hadn't touched his (alcoholic) Butterbeer by the time Hagrid had finished his third story.
"What's the matter, boy?" Hagrid asked. His eyes were still sparkling (but whether it was from the drink or just his amusement at his own jokes, Malfoy wasn't sure), but then again, slightly concerned.
"It's nothing, really." He offered a lopsided smile, downed almost all of his drink in one gulp, left some money, and headed out the back, towards the entrance of Diagon Alley.
Malfoy hesitated at the stone wall, his hand wavering over the general direction of the first brick. He was just about to rap at one with his knuckles, when an umbrella appeared above his hand, and skilfully tapped all of the bricks in record time.
Hagrid smiled down at Malfoy as the brink unfolded, weaving in-between each other to lead to the passage to Diagon Alley.
"Ah. Thanks, Hagrid."
"No problem, boy. I'll be seeing you then. Have to get a few things for the school grounds down in Knockturn Alley." He winked, and headed off down a dark alley to the left.
--
As Malfoy walked down the main street, he received curious, surprised and even shady looks from almost everyone he passed. He admitted that he had sealed himself off from the Wizarding World for quite a while, but he didn't think he had caused such an impact.
Unless that damned Daily Prophet had said anything. There would be hell to pay if they had.
Now scowling, Malfoy ploughed his way through the crowd of Christmas shoppers to storm into Flourish and Blotts.
"Mister Malfoy, a pleasure to see you. I haven't seen you since you came to buy your seventh year books." Came a cheerful chirp of the saleswitch behind the counter.
The corner of his mouth turned up in the attempt of a polite smile, and the young lady, shooed him over to the many shelves of books. She knew what kind of books he was looking for.
"You buying for yourself, or for someone else?" She asked, as they neared the back of the shop, where the more expensive books, but much more informative (as well as heavier and thicker) books were.
"For a girl I know." Malfoy replied, and shook his head as the witch raised an eyebrow and giggled.
"Of course, Mister Malfoy, I wasn't implying that." She grinned, her chocolate eyes sparkling. Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"I'll leave you here, then. See you, Mister Malfoy."
When the witch had disappeared behind one of the many rows of shelves, Malfoy browsed, running his finger over the spines of the books.
"Oh! If you hear music, you're not going crazy. It's a new sort of PA system they've come up with. Just pull on either your right or left ear to adjust the volume." Came a shout that was just comprehensible.
Around five minutes later, Malfoy heard a funny humming sound in his ear. Taking the witch's advice and tugging on his right ear a few times, the sound increased considerably, but (thankfully) it was at a level where it didn't pop his eyeballs out of their sockets.
"Hello, and welcome to the first live airing of Magic! What? What do you mean, 'did I get the memo'? It's a Muggle radio station? Stupid-"
Malfoy smirked, but then ignored 'the voices'. Picking out two books (more like tomes), He hauled them back up to the front of the shop, and dropped them on the counter. The books responded with a heavy 'thud'.
"Just these two, Mister Malfoy? Let's see...Biblical Creatures and The Aurora Borealis? You must have one hell of a bookworm for a friend. These things are huge."
"You have no idea. She'll be finished with both by New Year's. Perhaps you've met her. Hermione Granger?" A smile of recognition slipped onto the witch's face, and she moved some of her black hair out of her face.
"Ah. These are for Miss Granger, then. Yeah, she nearly sent us out of business because we couldn't restock quickly enough when she bought books by the truckload. She would also ask us to order books from America, Asia, just about everywhere." The witch continued to chat, half to Malfoy and half to herself. As she did so, she checked that the books had all of the pages (or at least most of them), fixed the spines and dog-eared pages, and made the writing a bit easier on the eye. She put them in a Weightless Bag, and handed them back to Malfoy.
"Twenty-two galleons, ten sickles and five knuts exactly." She watched as the man counted, his lips moving as he did so.
"Ah. Shit. I'm two knuts off." He cursed, his voice almost monotone. The witch made a face. To most magical creatures (besides the goblins), people were rarely stingy with their money.
"Don't worry about it. No one really cares. Get the hell out of here."
Malfoy shrugged, not even wanting to protest, and proceeded to walk out of the door. The Weightless Bag was slung over his shoulder, and he decided to meander around Diagon Alley, perhaps look for something for Weasley.
Malfoy stopped short in the middle of the crowd, which resulted in a few shoves and yells. He smirked, and decided he had turned into something rather like this:
Dear God,
I've decided to stop being an arrogant bastard and hug everyone. Does that get me a place in Heaven?
Draco Malfoy.
He laughed silently at his own joke, and then suddenly started to move again. Pretty soon, he'd be sending Longbottom a Christmas present.
--
Malfoy checked his watch, as he sat the steps of Gringotts bank. Thank God he had taken the key to the Malfoy Vault before he was chucked out of his own manor. Even though he didn't have a job, he could start a bonfire with all of the money he had. Not that Wizarding money was in bills.
He had a can of Cherry Coke in his hand, as he watched all of the people go by. Some seemed cheerful, determined and strong. Others seemed more depressed, wary and cold. It was like there was a clear and loud difference that classified people into one or the other, and that there was no in between. It was all in their eyes.
{Then again, he's never seen eyes like Potter's. Almost dead, grasping onto life, but life was just an unwinding spiral that none of us will ever get a hold of…}
Those kinds of people reminded him of the Death Eaters. The only link he used to have to them was through his Father – who was now almost gone from his every-day thoughts.
Then again, his Mother was just as guilty as his Father; ever since that day they stood in front of the altar and said their vows. Not that he was there or anything, but he knew all of their secrets, the things they had tried to keep, even from him.
There were often feelings of mutual, unspoken love between the three Malfoys. The way that his Father would pull out the chair when his Mother arrived at the table. The fact that she had made all of their robes, because she was amazing at anything to do with cloth or thread. When she had fixed his hair before parties, or clucked when he came home from flying around, soaking from rain and sweat. Of course, his Father would sometimes ruffle his hair in absent-minded affection (but then make a face at the gel that stuck to his fingers), or when he showed him the map where the Family Graveyard was hidden, because Mother didn't want him going there and further disturbing Uncle Echona's restless sleep.
Those were the times when an unrealised and almost uncomfortable feeling of love overcame each of them, at which they were left speechless, as they tried to decipher this mysterious emotion.
Perhaps this was all just the power of suggestion, but sometimes the Malfoys dropped their masquerade for a few split seconds, as if to remind themselves and each other that they were merely mortal, not inhuman creatures. That they could be shattered, but also, healed. If you peeled away the riches and the make-up they used to conceal their secrets, for each their own reasons, you'd still find very proud people – but in each other. That they, just as much as any other person, could listen to Heaven's breath, or moved by it's tears.
This thought probably came around by the fact that it was being sung in his mind.
…Breath of Heaven, hold me together…
He checked his watch again. 'Should get back to Harry's house.' it read. He raised an eyebrow. 'Don't give me that cheek.' Appeared underneath that. Looking up to the clock tower, he concluded that it was around ten.
The streetlights had flickered on at eight, beacons of safety in the dangerous night.
--
Lucius' 'job', including the time he spent at the Ministry, his time at Azkaban, or his connections with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, was rarely mentioned. All that they thought, or the questions that were left unspoken, they all silently concluded, could easily be solved by their own reasoning and intelligence.
…Be forever near me, Breath of Heaven…
One morning, Draco woke up, the Manor eerily quiet. Walking downstairs, still the clothes he had worn yesterday, he was greeted only by an empty Manor. Searching every inch of the property was unfruitful. All of their clothes were still in their rooms, and if he had walked outside in the garden, they both would be there, sitting and admiring the flowers.
…Breath of Heaven, light in my darkness…
He didn't cry, he didn't scream, or pace around the house in a rage. When he asked any of the other servants if they had seen them, they replied they hadn't seen Narcissa since the party a few nights ago, and Lucius had gone to bed early last night. Unusually early, even for him. He often fell asleep early on the couch when life was becoming too much for him. From this, he assumed that Mother had left before Father, perhaps as not to raise suspicions.
He knew that the House Elves knew something, but they wouldn't reply, only tremble, cry and beg for mercy.
{'The M-m-master and M-mistress have gone away, s-sir. For a very long t-time. There is n-no point in w-waiting for them here, M-m-master Draco. They will never come back here."}
Yet he stayed there, for what was left of his time at Hogwarts. Private searches across the country found nothing, their Villas and other houses in various countries were all empty.
Along with the emptiness of his own home, came an emptiness of his soul. After the House Elf Rebellion, he somehow found himself back at the place where all of his problems, and yet all of his solutions had started.
Hogwarts.
Dumbledore had been at the front door, as if he was expecting him. The glint in the periwinkle eyes only heightened his suspicions.
"Ah. Draco Malfoy. Come in. We've been expecting you."
--
The clock tower and his watch chimed in ten thirty. The streetlights cast a dim but somehow bright light, and shoppers were carrying multiple bags, all now in a rush to get home.
Standing up, his robes fluttering back and forth as the breeze played with them. Stepping out onto the cobble-stoned street, he swiftly made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron.
When he entered, the thick, warm and drink-smelling air was a total contrast from the harsh winter air that cut your skin even without any wind to assist it.
Partially ignoring, partially smirking at the shouts that followed him, he briskly grabbed a handful of Floo, and as it turned ten fifty-eight, he whispered;
"Harry Potter's house." He didn't want to draw any attention to himself, and hopefully, as long as he said it clearly, he wouldn't end up in Scottish Highlands.
--
Hermione sat in the kitchen, drinking her tea that she had forgotten from a earlier, when Malfoy had first come in. She looked up when he entered the room, brushing ash out of his hair.
"Nice hair, Malfoy." She smiled. Malfoy just blinked, before dusting at his hair one more time. "It's a compliment, I swear. You shouldn't wear it like there'll be no gel until Kingdom come." He arched an eyebrow, and she just gave another smile. She pushed a cup of tea over to him, and he seemed slightly surprised when he realized it was still warm. Hermione just preferred to smile, and not mention it was a few hours old.
Unused to such attention, Malfoy looked down, or over at the wall, then up to the ceiling.
--
Ron came back through the front door, his face pink from the bone chilling cold. He peeled off at least two layers of clothing, as if trying to adjust the temperature. Rubbing his hands together, he gratefully took the cup of tea Hermione offered.
The clock chimed in eleven, and the three hadn't said anything since Ron had come in.
"So, Malfoy. What did you buy at Diagon Alley?" Hermione smiled.
"I can't tell you that." Malfoy smirked back.
"You're such a git, Malfoy."
"And damn proud of it."
---
"I'm going to bed, I'm going to fall asleep the minute I hit the pillow. Mione, keep Malfoy here in check. I don't want him waking Harry up." Ron grinned, and Malfoy's lips twitched. Hermione mock-scowled.
"Honestly, Ron, you can be so unfeeling." She stood up after Ron had left the kitchen.
"I left some stuff for you on the couch. Goodnight, Draco."
He looked up, curious at why she had called him by his first name. It has always been Malfoy, like it had been in God's plan.
"Thou shalt be called Malfoy, and that name only, until the end of time."
Or something like that.
Shrugging to himself, he turned off the light in the kitchen.
--
It was a week before Christmas, and the only place the new Wizard Radio didn't affect was inside your own home, if you so wished. It was filled with Christmas music, and Draco was personally getting sick of it, but Hermione and Ron would often mock dance around in the kitchen, just to annoy him. This would result in flying utensils that mysteriously always came from Draco's direction.
Harry was still the same as ever, never looking a day old than those few months ago. In a 'slightly' ("Honest, Mione! We only had a few drinks.") drunken state, Draco and Ron had dressed him up as Father Christmas, much to Hermione's amusement (as she was rather intoxicated at the time), but when she was sober, her disgust. However, whether sober and drunk, Ron and Draco always found it highly amusing.
"Now, Malfoy, I still don't understand why you acted like such a prat." Ron's words were slightly slow and slurred. Draco laughed, his eyes foggy.
"You see, Weasley, it was not I, it was you. Your own prattish-ness bounced off of me and gave you the impression. It was all an illusion."
"Ah. It all makes sense now."
"Indeed, Weasley, indeed."
--
"Merry Christmas!" Ron and Hermione laughed as they entered the door to Neville's house, shoving presents into his arms. Draco followed, tossing a present on top of the teetering pile.
He's bought a present for Longbottom at the last minute. He was such a sap.
"Thanks, Malfoy." Neville's voice came from somewhere under the boxes and bows. Draco sniffed, and walked into the main room.
God, it was a Gryffindor convention. Draco made a face, and the entire group of bright, happy-go-lucky faces turned to look at him.
"Dear God! It's Malfoy!" Came a shout, which was automatically identified as Seamus Finnegan. Draco scowled.
"Oi! Malfoy! Get your ass over here! We must evaluate you!" There came a chorus of laughter, which was quickly silenced when he actually got his rear-end over there.
"Not bad, Malfoy, not bad. I like the hair." There came more laughter, as Malfoy's arrogance duelled with his embarrassment as he tried not to blush. Draco hoped he had succeeded.
"Yeah, though it makes him look more girly. Going for the pretty boy look, Malfoy?"
Must not punch stupid Gryffindors. Must not punch stupid Gryffindors...
"Come on, Malfoy. Let's get you out of here." Hermione grabbed his arm, and dragged him away from the group of boys (sure, they were men now, but their IQ and maturity was the same).
---
They arrived home at two in the morning, looking more like zombies than humans.
"I never knew Neville threw such good parties." Ron moaned. "It would of been much easier to escape if it had totally sucked."
---
"Oh, thank you so much!" Hermione launched herself into Ron's arms, and then proceeded to do so to Draco. Both boys blinked, shrugged, and muttered a reply.
"Sure. Whatever."
"Yeah, that's great."
"God, you two are such men. Ron! This ring is so beautiful, and it glows, too. My God, Draco, I can't tell you how much I love these books..." Hermione continued to chat to herself about the presents she had received - the ones from the Weasleys or her parents hadn't arrived yet.
It was Christmas Day,
Ron had already received his presents - tickets to the next Quidditch World Cup from Draco, and huge photo album of their Hogwarts days from Hermione. However, it had been also meant for Harry - which left them all in an awkward moment (personally, Ron liked Draco's present better, but he didn't dare say that to either of them. However, that photo of Harry in fishnets was slightly disturbing. It also made Ron wonder where Hermione got it from).
"Here, Draco. Take it." Hermione offered, shoving the present into Draco's hands.
"Stupid Mudblood. Didn't have to buy me anything." He muttered, secretly happy they both cared enough about him now. Or maybe it was just because it was Christmas.
He unwrapped the present carefully, especially when he realised it was from one of the more expensive jewellery stores in London.
It was a silver chain with a small cross of the same metal, along with detailed silver wings, totally unfolded, coming from the back.
"I certainly know you've never been religious, Draco." Hermione started, smiling. (Draco wasn't exactly a follower of 'Never use the Lord's name in vain'), but even Draco thought it was very pretty - not that he'd be caught saying that. "When I saw that, though, I don't know, it just reminded me of you."
"Pfft. Cut with the dramatics. Love the jewellery, Draco. Here's my present." Hermione mock-scowled at Ron, who raised both eyebrows.
Actually, there were two - one present was a joke, a signed copy of The Distressing Beauty - The Full Biography of Gilderoy Lockhart.
Draco smirked, and clutched the book close to his chest.
"I'll treasure it forever, Weasel."
The other was a pair of sunglasses - but when Draco put them on, the inside of the glasses said something about a lie detector. Draco nodded in approvement, and smirked.
"Not bad Weasel. Let me try this out - Do you find me a ravishing beast?"
Hermione burst into hysterics, probably from too much wine.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course, Malfoy."
"Good. They work. I always knew you did swing the other way, Weasel."
"You bastard." Ron laughed, and shoved the other man. Draco just shrugged, and took the glasses off.
"The lie detector doesn't lie, Weasel."
"Oh! That reminded me. Draco, I found this in Harry's room, it was in his desk. It was addressed to you, and came with this." Hermione handed him a messily wrapped rectangle, with a note on top of it.
Draco nodded, and unfolded the note, with 'Draco Malfoy' written on it in Potter's messy handwriting.
Malfoy,
Don't ask me how I know. It's a long story. I hope what's in the package helps you, because if you're reading this, you must know what's happened to me.
Please, you've got to help me. God, that sounds so sad. I hope I can thank you when I wake up.
If I can't, tell Ron, Hermione and everyone else they've meant the world to me.You're the only one with the knowledge to get me out of this nightmare.
Harry Potter
Draco smirked, and unwrapped the brown-paper taped messily around the...book. The front read;
Victus Mortis
Mortis Abduco Nos Cunctus - Tamen Nequaquam Servo Noster Animus
"What does that mean, Draco?" Ron asked, looking over his shoulder.
"It's crude Latin. It basically reads Living Death...Death takes us all, but doesn't save our souls. Nequaquam means by no means, which is basically means doesn't."
"Well, that's depressing. Weird cover, though."
The cover was bound in black leather, with jewels and diamonds covering it. The Title and Subtitle was raised in gold lettering. There was a large silver cross, dividing the book cover into four parts.
Draco opened the book, coughing at the dust that spiralled upwards. The bookmark, a silver and gold thread with a cross dangling at the end, was marking a certain page.
Draco opened up to it, and scanned the page. His eyes widened slightly, and a small gasp escaped his lips, as his finger trailed down the page, his lips silently mouthing the words, translating the forgotten language.
"This is it. God damn it, Potter, you're your own lifesaver."
Victus Mortis - Resurrectio
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Pergo?
(Continue?)